


flowers cut to shrivel and die (like romance does and we both know why)

by Caracalliope



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Background Dirk Strider, Background Kanaya Maryam, Future Fic, Gen, Homestuck 2: Beyond Canon, Resurrection, The Homestuck Epilogues: Meat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: A wilted Rose escapes her glass coffin.
Relationships: Rose Lalonde & Rosebot, Rose Lalonde/Rosebot
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	flowers cut to shrivel and die (like romance does and we both know why)

You can no longer hear the harsh, futile crashes of metal against glass - your doppelganger has stopped trying to punch through the lid of your former resting place. You assume that she has realized the same thing you figured out years ago: Dirk’s few virtues include a dedication to quality control. Of course he made a revitalization pod that can’t be broken by the robots he built. Did he predict that you would one day switch places with the other Rose? Was he worried about something simple and sordid, perhaps expecting that she would assault your frail fresh body from the outside, driven by a petty urge for self-destruction (much like the one he keeps failing to rein in)?

No, you are letting your imagination run away with you. You apply Occam’s shitty katana, and conclude that he enjoys making problems for everyone around him. Terezi certainly couldn’t break or scratch her way through the glass either. You are quite sure you don’t want to know whether she ever tried (to free you or end you, or both).

The robotic Rose has switched to beating a fierce but restrained rhythm against the lid - you assume that some kind of binary curse is being woven against you and your selfish, god-traitor, flesh-driven ways. It doesn't matter. You wish you could change from your grimy pajama pants to a nightgown of some dignity. But you have to allocate your strength carefully. Like a vampire bride with anemia, you can’t waste yourself on trivialities.

With stiff, pained muscles, you straddle the glass pod, then lie supine above the other Rose. The glass is cold against the back of your neck, pressing against the bare skin of your lower back. This old white shirt barely covers anything.

It's a familiar cold and you wish to recoil from it. In a different world, you would have been the one awake and trapped below, begging for Heroic release or Just execution. But you’ve sworn off Seeing different worlds. All that matters is that you and your unlucky ultimate double are linked with bonds you can’t explain, and you want to be on top of her when the reunion happens. You’ve arranged a charming, two-layered placement of Roses, and you have no way to tell whether it will please your wife or enrage her. You are deliberately going into this blind. Kanaya will decide your fate. Just for a few hours, you want to revel in a deliberate, hopeful ignorance.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from _Roses_ by The Indelicates, a perpetual Lalonde selfcest mood.


End file.
